Darkspell - Katharine Kerr [19]
“Wear those clothes in the temple. Take in your sword as well. The high priestess has so commanded.”
In the inner shrine the polished wood walls gleamed in the light of nine oil lamps, and the floor lay spread with fresh rushes. By the far wall stood the altar, a boulder left rough except for the top, which had been smoothed into a table. Behind it hung a huge circular mirror, the only image of Her that the Goddess will have in Her temples. Dressed in black, Ardda stood to the left.
“Unsheathe the sword and lay it on the altar.”
Gweniver curtsied to the mirror, then did as the high priestess ordered. Through a side door three senior priestesses entered without a word and stood at the right, waiting to witness her vow.
“We are assembled to instruct and receive one who would serve the Goddess of the Moon,” Ardda said. “Gweniver of the Wolf is known to us all. Are there any objections to her candidacy?”
“None,” the three said in unison. “She is known to us as one blessed by Our Lady.”
“Well and good, then.” The high priestess turned to Gweniver. “Will you swear to serve the Goddess all your days and nights?”
“I will, my lady.”
“Will you swear never to know a man?”
“I will, my lady.”
“Will you swear never to betray the secret of the holy name?”
“I will, my lady.”
Ardda raised her hands and clapped them together three times, then three more, and finally a third three, measuring out the holy number in its just proportion. Gweniver felt a solemn yet blissful peace, a sweetness like mead flowing through her body. At last the decision was made, and her vow given over.
“Of all the goddesses,” Ardda went on, “only Our Lady has no name known to the common folk. We hear of Epona, we hear of Sirona, we hear of Aranrhodda, but always Our Lady is simply the Goddess of the Moon.” She turned to the three witnesses. “And why should such a thing be?”
“The name is a secret.”
“It is a mystery.”
“It is a riddle.”
“And yet,” Ardda said after the answers, “it is a riddle easy to solve. What is the name of the Goddess?”
“Epona.”
“Sirona.”
“Aranrhodda.”
“And,” this said in unison, “all the rest.”
“You have spoken true.” Ardda turned to Gweniver. “Here, then, is the answer to the riddle. All goddesses are one goddess. She goes by all names and no name, for she is One.”
Gweniver began to tremble in a fierce joy.
“No matter what men or women call her, She is One,” Ardda went on. “There is but one priestesshood that serves Her. She is like the pure light of the sun when it strikes the rain-filled sky and turns into a rainbow, many colors, but all One at the source.”
“Long have I thought so,” Gweniver whispered. “Now I know.”
Again the high priestess clapped out the nine knocks, then turned to the witnesses.
“There is a question of how Gweniver, no longer lady but new priestess, shall serve the Goddess. Let her kneel in petition at the altar.”
Gweniver knelt in front of the sword. In the mirror she could see herself, a shadowy figure in the flickering light, but she barely recognized her face, the cropped hair, the mouth set grim, the eyes glowing with lust for vengeance. Help me, O Lady of the Heavens, she prayed, I want blood and vengeance, not tears and mourning.
“Look into the mirror,” Ardda whispered. “Beg Her to come to you.”
Gweniver spread her hands on the altar and took up her watch. At first she saw nothing but her face and the temple behind her. When Ardda began to chant a high wailing song in the old tongue, it seemed that the oil lamps flickered in time to the long-sprung rhythms. The chant rose and fell, winding through the